


The Unofficial Field Guide to Promises

by curiouslyfic



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: M/M, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-11
Updated: 2010-06-11
Packaged: 2017-10-10 01:34:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/93772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/curiouslyfic/pseuds/curiouslyfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If time is relative—and it is—then it stands to reason the units of time measurement are relative, too. For everyday shit, organization, Hikaru uses the Starfleet standards like everyone else but for the things that matter, he's got his own scale.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Unofficial Field Guide to Promises

**Author's Note:**

> AU in that there's a water-based shower on the Enterprise. Why? Wet, naked Jim Kirk. Written for rounds-of-kink.

They joke about it sometimes, the crazy 'time dilation fields' they encounter in space, how sometimes it's hours between one heartbeat and the next, how sometimes, it feels like they've never done anything but warp. Time is relative, always is, but without the physical cues, geostationary orbit around Earth's sun, it's just one more data feed to watch, the divisions between one shift and the next.

If time is relative—and it is—then it stands to reason the units of time measurement are relative, too. For everyday shit, organization, Hikaru uses the Starfleet standards like everyone else but for the things that matter, he's got his own scale.

It's not four months since he heard from home, it's five calls from his mother since he left; it's not two days since he got laid last, it's a half-healed bruise.

:::

Kirk takes him down in a rough tackle that can't end any way but good, all gropes and grunts and Kirk's hot, slick tongue. It's not the first time they've hauled each other to bed, not even the first time they've done it in some alien guest suite, and after the spontaneous time expansion field that dragged the meet-and-greet session on for a day, Hikaru's looking forward to the chance to really move.

From the feel of things, Kirk is, too.

Only, they apparently miss the bed. Hikaru's not sure how, has a vague sense of falling-stopping-sliding before his ass hits the floor, but he'll deal with that when he's had a little more of Kirk. That shirt, for instance? Needs to _go_.

Hikaru drags Kirk's shirt up over his head, has to fight off Kirk's attempt to peel off his because they don't have the room, and when he's dropped Kirk's shirt to one side, Kirk hauls him up by his collar and growls.

Mission: diplomatic snooze is looking up.

The floor of their guest suite is rock-hard and cold so Hikaru's all in for Kirk's second attempt to drag him to bed.

He's less down for their second slide off.

He'll say so when Kirk's kiss lets up, though, because some things are too good to blow off.

Sitting in some big, stupid courtyard watching Kirk work the room is a completely inappropriate cocktease but Hikaru's gone on Kirk's grin, the cocky little swagger he affects to establish himself, the way he abuses his too-pretty eyes to hide the wicked workings of his mind. Over and above the fucking, he's got a mancrush on Jim Kirk. He thinks maybe Kirk has one, too, because he's not dragging the rest of the away team back to his alien guest suite.

Hikaru scrambles back, a crab-crawl to hoist himself up on the bed because Kirk's trying to maneuver him and he seems to need help. Kirk gets a hand planted in the soft, slick material covering the bed-nest and when he gets himself upright, Hikaru gets a gorgeous eyeful of bare chest.

Hell yeah, Hikaru has _plans_.

They slide off again. Again and again and...

And.

No matter how carefully they try to settle themselves, they slide right the hell off at the slightest motion. Once they figure that out, they spend a minute staring at each other on the floor.

Bed or sex; it's a damned simple choice.

Kirk grabs the pillows but they slide off those, too, Hikaru's head knocking hard off the flooring as Kirk peels off his pants. Kirk makes a face. Hikaru pulls him down again and rolls them both so he's back on top. Kirk shivers into him. Hikaru's not sure if that's the body heat they're generating with every rough touch or if it's just the granite chill of the floor.

Floor sex in quarters is usually fast, more accidental than intent, but it's always good. This thing with Kirk, it's always. Well. It's not a _relationship_, fuck what McCoy says, but so far it's been six weeks of rug burn he's really enjoyed, occasionally the best part of his day so whatever, Hikaru's in.

Won't last--impossible--but it's totally making his now.

So this should be floor sex like it usually is, rough and impatient and stupidly weak knees, only the floor's so damned cold, there's a lot of rolling around and Hikaru's kind of looking forward to this post-mission medical check because man, between the tangled limbs and the grabby hands and the hella rough floor, they're both totally getting scratched to shit. He's not complaining, not even close, but he's pretty sure McCoy will.

They end up on their pile of uniform bits, Kirk plastered to the well-scraped line of his back, Hikaru folded over and arching back to meet the sharp snaps of Kirk's hips. He comes with Kirk's teeth in his shoulder, Kirk's hand on his cock, cheek squashed to his shirt-pile and, bizarrely, a vaguely familiar hiss in his ear.

He doesn't get that until the next day, when he finds a comm-shaped impression ground into his cheek, one more mark in his rainbow of well-laid.

Hikaru's hunting down the trash receptacle to get rid of the lube packets they've drained when Kirk finishes checking in with Spock.

Kirk says carefully, "I think we commed the bridge."

And between the well-fucked and the ice floor and the scratches and the _bed_, all they can do is laugh.

 :::

They joke sometimes about settling down, finding themselves a nice planet that hasn't made the charts yet and ditching Starfleet to live the dream.

That's about as likely as either of them making it to 35.

 :::

Hikaru comes to with a mouthful of sludge and the cold stripe of shock draining down his spine. He can tell by the bursts of phaserfire going on around him that hell yeah, this one's downgrading fast to mission: clusterfuck, too. Someone crouch-hovers over him, rapid jargon that sounds soothingly like McCoy, and when Hikaru tries to turn his head to confirm that, a warm hand holds him down.

"Damn it, don't move yet," he hears, tough as old meat, and as Hikaru tries to scrape the sludge stuff off his tongue, he thinks he hears Jim shout, "What the hell, Bones?"

Definitely mission: clusterfuck, he thinks, and then there's the hiss of a hypospray and he doesn't think anything else for a while.

He comes to again in Sick Bay to McCoy's bedside scowl. Hikaru still doesn't know _what the fuck, Bones_, but he knows the comforts of sedation and he can't taste a thing.

Jim's plotting restlessly from the next biobed. Hikaru feels a jailbreak coming on.

McCoy doesn't have much to say, so probably he's already gotten it off his chest and Hikaru's decidedly not thinking about how conscious he must have been for McCoy to be appeased, but it's two scans and a grunt before McCoy takes off. By the time he does, Jim's already figured out he's awake.

Hikaru could totally get used to swimming back to consciousness to Jim's gorgeous, scuffed face.

Jim taps a finger thoughtfully against his lips. Hikaru nods, slow and sure. Jim runs the threat assessments that come in so handy in the field and by the time he's decided they have a clear shot to the exit, Hikaru's not-really-hiding his dopey smile.

He's pretty sure neither of them could make it back to quarters under their own power but they abuse a drunk lean and, having slung arms around each other's shoulder, they prop each other up. They make it almost to the turbo lift before Hikaru's balance gives out and they end up slumped together against a wall. Jim's giving him a look-over, like maybe Hikaru needs to go back to Sick Bay, after all, and the hell he's facing the bedside scowl alone, thanks, so Hikaru decides to make good use of the time. He leans his head on Jim's shoulder, lays a palm on Jim's cheek, thumbs the full curve of Jim's split lower lip. _No one marks you but me_, he thinks and because he won't say it, he mouths at Jim's jawline, sucks and gnaws himself a bruise.

This close, he can feel what that does to Jim's pulse. Hopes Jim can feel what it does to his.

The pretty engineering ensign who passes them bites down on a smile.

:::

Space is many things, awesome and amazing and un-fucking-real, but safe, not so much. They don't bother with promises, all-too-aware how easily they'd become lies. It's not that Hikaru doesn't want to stick around, not that he thinks Jim's got one foot out the door, it's that all-too-often, it's kind of miraculous they make it home.

So sure, maybe they could say it's been years at this point, looks like it's going to be at least a few more still, but that's uncomfortably close to tempting fate.

:::

Jim doesn't just shove him up against the wall, Jim fucking _attacks_, all hands clutching and hard, hostile tongue, kissing like there's some chance Hikaru's going to escape if he eases up. Hikaru's still all disgusting from the three-hour standard geological survey that turned into mission: clusterfuck, nine hours trapped in a shuttlecraft with two nauseous scientists and a shell-shocked engineer, intermittent propulsion and a surprise debris field.

This is one hell of a welcome home.

Hikaru tries to touch back, maybe drag Jim to the bedroom, maybe duck away for a shower, but that just makes Jim restless, makes Jim _bite_, and since Hikaru loses vowels when Jim uses teeth on that part of his neck, Hikaru gives up on hygiene and throws his hands up over his head, wrists back against the wall so Jim can take whatever he wants.

Jim works a hickey just under his jaw, licks and sucks and gnaws like he's taking what he's owed, and Hikaru tips his head back, closes his eyes. At least today's version of mission: clusterfuck didn't end in mud or blood or disaster, no overnights in Sick Bay or eleventh hour diplomacy required. Instead, he's got one more impossible flight for his legend, one more minor miracle for his file. And, evidently, it's turned Jim on.

As far as Hikaru's concerned, that makes this a pretty sweet day.

So fuck it, forget it, he kisses back, nips at Jim's tongue until he catches Jim's lower lip between his teeth to suck hard. Jim's mouth is gorgeous--everything about him is, from his reckless idiot need to jump headlong at disaster to his unshakable faith in his crew but Hikaru's got a soft spot for Jim's body, every last inch and right now, like this, he needs to wreck Jim's mouth. Make it obvious that Jim lets him leave marks.

Jim shivers a little and worms into him, so close Hikaru's whole world is body heat and uniforms and the wall of their quarters holding him up. It's one of those kisses that won't stop, contact they can't break long enough to pant out the burning in their lungs, and Hikaru doesn't even question why Jim's grip relents. Rough they do, yeah, like it's now a top five Jim kink, but that's not _all_ they are and Hikaru figures they're only going on two years in shared quarters because they both know when to let shit slide. The infamous Sulu zen, the infamous Kirk charm, the infamously awesome sex. Honestly doesn't get much better than this.

They need to breathe, though, so they do, Jim drained enough to slump into his chest, their temples touching as they pant. Jim's eyes are incredibly blue, bright as warp coils against the flushed heat of his skin. Somehow, despite this, Jim's gaze looks soft, sweet and searching, almost as wrecked as his mouth.

Yeah, Hikaru's not showering alone.

"I'm all disgusting," he says, rougher than he expects. Jim scans his face again. Fuck knows what he sees but hey, for once, there's no chance Hikaru's hiding any open wounds.

Jim says, "You'll live."

Hikaru frowns a grin when Jim burrows into his chest, hands still gripping awkwardly and face buried in the crook of Hikaru's throat. He drops a hand down to rub over Jim's hair, lets it slip carelessly to Jim's neck.

"Wanna help me drop the soap?"

Jim's laugh sounds all wrong. There's too much tension in his jaw. "You dropping or am I?"

Hikaru considers his options, both of which apparently involve bleeding off his post-flight adrenaline on wet, naked Jim. There's no bad there. "Some reason we can't take turns?"

Jim mutters something into Hikaru's neck. It sounds a lot like _could've died_. Hikaru figures that's a yes.

.

Two years of reckless one-offs and six months in the same bed; Hikaru _knows_ Jim Kirk. Still gets surprised sometimes, caught off-guard by how Jim's mind works, the absolute chess game he can find in the everyday.

Showering, for instance. After that kiss, the mark Jim's sucked on him and what Hikaru's done to Jim's mouth, it should be all fast hands and adrenaline, grinding up on each other in the stall, making the most of all that slick skin and confines of the sonic shower stall.

Hikaru actually figures it's going to be one of those showers where at least one of them barely even gets wet.

Instead, Jim peels his clothes off and bats Hikaru's hands away, takes it all with a distinct caution Hikaru wants to call _mother hen_. There's a body check, like Hikaru's been in the violent sort of mission: clusterfuck, but it's strangely grope-free.

Hikaru wonders if Jim's hit his head. Jim hustles him into the shower and strips himself down. Hikaru's wondering if he's missed the ion storm when Jim yanks his pants off and falls into the sink, which, yeah, is definitely _his_ Jim Kirk. He keeps his head down under the spray, unwinding in the heat, and snaps a hand out to grab Jim's arm, tug him in and wedge him by the wall.

Jim smiles self-consciously as he rubs a hip.

There's not a lot of room to move in the shower. Never is anyway, because whoever built it clearly didn't get the joys of shower sex, but this time, Jim blocks him in.

Oh yeah, _mother hen_.

Jim wears it pretty well.

Hikaru slips into the easy pleasure of kissing Jim Kirk, the lazy slip-slide of tongue. The post-flight rush is a hum in his gut, a restless itch Jim won't let him scratch and Hikaru might protest it if he couldn't feel the yet neither one of them needs to spell out.

Jim kisses gentle but he holds on too tight, fingers digging into the knobs of Hikaru's shoulders, scraping down his arms. Hikaru works a thigh in so their cocks grind when he rocks, keeps the kisses easy as he gets a grip on Jim's ass.

It only turns rough again when he digs his nails in tight so he's not fighting the relentless slip-slide of the shower so much to keep the stellar dick-on-dick contact going. The sound Jim makes is hilariously close to a whine, which makes Hikaru actually laugh outright because yeah, fuck the mother hen thing, all he wants is naked _Jim_, and Jim turns those gentle kisses with teeth.

Hikaru's, like, stupid cheap when he's on a post-flight high, which Jim fully knows and apparently kind of kinks, so the introduction of _teeth_ and whining and Jim shoving him hard back into the wall all goes straight to his cock. Hikaru gets a hand down to wrap around their dicks, jerks fast and ruthless, just stripping them both, hips working steadily to fuck up into his hand and he drags Jim along for the ride.

It should be embarrassing, how fast he comes. He thinks it might be if he hadn't seen what it does to Jim's face, how it fucks Jim's breath up when Hikaru jerks and sputters and spills all over his hand. Jim's mouth is so slack, so _open_ when Hikaru cranes in for a kiss, something hot and wet and vicious because he needs to hear Jim's little whine again.

He gives up the death claw on Jim's gorgeous ass to dig a hold in on the back of Jim's neck, just refuses to let Jim slide away from the kiss or, fuck, go all stupid mother hen again, and Hikaru throws everything he has into wicked wrist action on Jim's dick. He's shameless, relentless, a completely single-minded fuck until he meets Jim's stare.

Fuck, the things he finds burning up Jim's gaze, it's everything they don't say aloud. It's _time_ and _home_ and _staying_, all of it shot through with _safe_, and yeah, the next kiss is total mother henning but it's okay because Hikaru's fingers claw into Jim's neck like they'll need Doc McCoy to pry them loose.

Jim comes with his eyes open, fixed on Hikaru's face, mouth slack and flushed so, so red. He's breathing hard when he sort of collapses against Hikaru, a big, messy heap that holds him to the wall.

::: 

Jim says, "Can't fuck a memory," quiet against Hikaru's neck, and before Hikaru can do anything but nod back a little, Jim's working a hard, deliberate bruise under Hikaru's ear, somewhere his shirts will never hide.

~end~

 


End file.
